Chapter Text
Harry sighs, his chin perched on his bent arms as he stares over the counter at the space Griphook had vacated almost twenty minutes ago.
When the goblin finally returns it’s not with multiple bags of galleons like Harry had asked for—enough for him to spend the summer holidays at the Leaky Cauldron whilst he forges a plan to get Sirius free so he can live with him—but instead a single bag and what looks to be a faded piece of parchment.
Griphook looks at him across the counter, quietly assessing him. Harry averts his eyes knowing the goblin is likely eyeing the yellow bruises on his face, courtesy of his uncle, and the main reason Harry has no choice but to stay at the Leaky Cauldron this summer.
“Mr Potter,” Griphook says eventually, eyes finally rising from the bruises on Harry’s cheek to his eyes, “I have something that may be of interest to you.”
“Right,” Harry drawls. Hagrid had always told him to treat Goblins with respect, and Harry really likes Professor Filtwick, but he hasn’t slept in over twenty hours so he really doesn’t have time to negotiate with goblins today. “That’s nice, but I’ll just take my galleons and go, thanks.” He plasters on what he hopes is a polite smile but likely looks more annoyed.
“The abuse of young wizards is one of the most heinous acts a person can commit, and from a muggle no less,” Griphook sneers, his lips curling in distaste, and Harry knows for sure that he’d noticed the bruises, “However, I have it on good authority that not all muggles treat children this way.”
“No shit.” Harry mutters, flinching slightly when Griphook’s beady eyes narrow on him. “Sorry,” He adds, cringing, “No, most muggles treat children well. My aunt and uncle treat Dudders well, it’s just me they hate.” He smiles grimly.
“Regardless,” Griphook sneers, “I believe this letter may be of some use to you. It has been in the Potter vault for almost fourteen years. I would have provided you with it sooner however the previous time you arrived you were with Rubeus Hagird and I did not feel it was appropriate.”
Harry’s brows furrow as Griphook slides it over to him. He looks between the sheet of parchment and the curious eyes of the goblin before sighing and picking it up.
Dear Prongslet,
If you're reading this letter, it means that I'm no longer with you. I wish I could have been there to see you grow, to teach you all I know about quidditch, and to witness the amazing person I am sure you have become. But fate had other plans, and I find myself writing this letter to you at a time where it feels the war may already have been lost.
If you’re reading this then I know Sirius, Remus, and Peter are no longer with you.
First and foremost, I want you to know how deeply loved you are. You are the light of our lives, Harry, and the greatest joy Lily and I have ever known. No matter what happens, always remember that you are cherished beyond measure. Sirius has spent almost every night at Godrics Hollow with us, and he, like the rest of us, is wholeheartedly in love with you and the light you have brought to our lives in such dark times.
I must also share with you some difficult truths. The Order of the Phoenix is falling, and the forces of darkness are triumphing. The war we are fighting, the sacrifices we are making, are not enough to secure victory. It pains me to say this, but I believe the light side will lose.
I had hoped you would never have to know these things, that you could live a peaceful life free from the shadows of war. But if you're reading this, then it means that hope has been shattered, and you must face the harsh reality of our world.
There's something else you need to know, something I hoped you would never need to know, but if you’re reading this letter then you must. Your biological father is a man named Tony Stark. Your mum, and I met him one night in a Muggle bar in London. It was a chance encounter, a fleeting moment of connection that changed our lives forever. From that encounter, you were conceived, Harry. You are the product of love, albeit a complicated one.
I want you to understand that while Tony Stark may be your biological father, I have loved you as my own son from the moment you were born. You are my flesh and blood, Harry, and nothing can ever change that. But I also know that I cannot trust Albus Dumbledore to do what's best for you. He has his own agenda, his own plans, and I fear that they may not align with your best interests.
That's why I'm asking you to seek out your real father, to find Tony Stark and discover the truth of your lineage. I believe he can offer you guidance, protection, and a future free from the shadows that haunt our world.
I know this is a lot to take in, Harry, but please know that I trust you to make the right choices. You are strong, brave, and capable of great things. Never forget who you are and where you come from.
With all my love,
Your Dad
Harry re-reads the letter three more times, Griphook staying uncomfortably silent as he does, until Harry snorts, slapping the letter on the counter.
“Is this a joke?”
“Mr Potter, when have you ever known goblins to joke?”
Harry blushes, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. “Fine. Well it must be a mistake then. My father is James Potter. Literally everyone knows that.”
“Are you saying Gringotts Wizarding Bank has made a mistake, Mr Potter?” Griphook’s tone is eerily calm, but Harry isn’t stupid enough to take it at face value.
“No, um, it’s just—I mean—Who even the fuck is Tony Stark?”
“It is not a function of Gringotts Wizarding Bank to keep up to date with the muggle world.” Griphook says. Harry sighs. “However,” Griphook drawls, “for a small fee I can do some research for you.”
Harry wants to roll his eyes, but he doubts it will go down well the sneering Goblin. “Fine, I’ll pay whatever it costs.” He mutters. It’s not like he has a ton of options. “How long will it take?”
“I can have the information in the next twenty minutes. It will cost sixty-galleons. Is this satisfactory?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Harry grumbles, gesturing over his shoulder, “I’ll be waiting over there.”
Griphook nods and vanishes again. Harry rubs his eyes, the exhaustion creeping in now, and slumps over to the chairs in front of the counters.
The world seems to spin as he settles on the chair. Everything he thought he knew, everything he believed about who he is—it's all shattered now. How could no-one have told him any of this? How could Sirius not have told him? Professor Lupin?
He’s spent his entire life mourning for a man that wasn’t really his father. A man he didn’t even know, but felt some kind of connection with. James loved him, the letter made that clear, but none of it feels right anymore.
And Voldemort. The name alone sends shivers down his spine. He's been after him since he was a baby. But now, knowing that his real father is someone else... would Voldemort even care about him? Would he still see him as a threat, or just another half-blood wizard in his way?
What would his life have been like if he’d grown up with his biological father? Would he still have gone to Hogwarts? He’d still be a wizard, that’s for sure. Would he have been safer, happier? Or would he still be the same, just with a different set of problems?
It feels like only moments later when Griphook returns to the counter, looking over at Harry expectantly.
Harry pushes himself up, dawdling over, in no rush this time. The goblin pushes another piece of parchment to him. “This is all I could find on Mr Tony Stark. I may be able to find more should you need it.” Harry hesitantly takes the parchment.
Tony Stark, a billionaire industrialist and genius inventor, rose to fame as the armoured superhero Iron Man. Born into wealth and inheriting Stark Industries, he initially gained notoriety for his extravagant lifestyle and brilliant mind. However, his life took a dramatic turn when he was captured by terrorists and forced to build weapons. Instead, Stark created a suit of armor to escape, marking the birth of Iron Man.
From that moment on, Stark dedicated himself to using his technology for good, becoming a founding member of the Avengers and a key figure in defending Earth from various threats.
“My real dad is a superhero? What the fuck is an avenger?” Harry says, half in awe and half disbelieving. He can vaguely remember Dudley playing with superhero action figures as a young child but Harry only got to use them when they were broken.
He had never thought superheroes were real, but then again he’d never thought wizards and witches were real either until Hagrid had turned up almost three years ago.
“Indeed. A muggle with vast amounts of wealth too.” Griphook says, voice almost sounding admiring.
Harry shakes his head, anger swelling in him. None of this changes anything. The only thing that is different now is that he might have one parent who’s alive. “So, what? This doesn’t change anything. Voldemort is still after me and I still need money to stay at the Leaky Cauldron.”
For the first time in the hour Harry has been here the goblin looks strangely sympathetic. “Young Mr Potter, you can’t have honestly thought that Albus Dubledore would have allowed you to spend your summer at the Leaky Cauldron where any dark witch or wizard has access to you?”
“He can’t tell me what to do!” Harry snaps, but even he can tell it’s half-hearted. Dumbledore will send him back to the Dursleys as soon as he gets wind that Harry is in Diagon Alley.
“You’re an underage wizard, Mr Potter, and Albus Dumbledore is your magical guardian. It is he who makes the decisions on your behalf until you’re of age.” Griphook taps his dainty finger on the letter, “Though I am quite certain Professor Dumbledore is unaware of your true heritage, as is the entire wizarding world. Your father is a muggle and not even wizarding laws hold supremacy over parental rights.”
Harry blanches, shoving the letter away. “What, so I’m supposed to just go to America and live with a man who either doesn’t know I exist, or does and wants nothing to do with me?” He scoffs, “Sounds about right for the way my life has panned out.”
Griphook stares at him. “I did not say that, Mr Potter. Nor am I saying this, but if your true father were to agree to you spending your summer at the Leaky Cauldron then there is not a thing anyone can do, not even someone as respected as Albus Dumbledore.”
Harry stares at the goblin in awe. Of course. He has a parent now. A parent who has legal rights over him but obviously wants nothing to do with him. Tony Stark can tell Dumbledore that Harry will spend the summer in Diagon Alley and there’s nothing anyone can do. Harry can visit the Weasleys. He can find a lawyer to help free Sirius.
He smirks at the goblin. “I think I might need some muggle money. Dollars.”
Griphook pushes the bag that has been on the counter the entire time over to him. “You will find $3000 in here. It should be enough to get you a muggle flight to America and assist you in finding your biological father. There is also a passport that you will need to gain access to a flight.”
Harry grabs the bag and gawks at the vast amounts of notes inside. He looks back up at the goblin, smiling genuinely for the first time. “Thank you.”
“Mr Potter,” Griphook says without the usual sneer in his voice, “It is not for the goblins to comment on the woes that bestow the wizarding world. But I feel it important to remind you to embrace the unexpected, for often it is the unanticipated moments that lead us to the most remarkable paths of growth and happiness."
Harry nods, a bit thrown off by the words, pocketing the letter too, and strolling out of Gringotts with an entirely new outlook.
Now all he needs to figure out is how to find the closest airport and a flight to New York.
The woman at the airport had been bemused, if not slightly wary, when Harry had asked where Tony Stark works, but eventually had pointed him in the direction of Stark Tower.
Which is how Harry finds himself in Midtown, Manhattan, arguing with a young woman.
“I am not going to repeat myself again, young man. Mr Stark does not accept unscheduled appointments. Now, if you need help then we can contact the police for you, or you can stay and we’ll contact the police with the intention of having you arrested.”
“Just let me see Tony Stark.” Harry snaps, inhaling a calming breath and forcing what he hopes is a charismatic smile. The muggle police arriving would not be ideal. He has no idea how the American muggles liaise with the American wizard government, or really if they even have one, but he does know if any American wizards find out he’s here then death eaters will find out too.
“Call Mr Stark’s head of security. He can deal with this.” The woman hisses to a man dressed in a suit, scowling at Harry.
Harry smirks, folding his arms across his chest, completely unbothered by the ferocious look she’s giving him—it has nothing on the expression of pure contempt and disgust uncle Vernon normally gives him, usually before Harry is treated to a few kicks and hits for his smart mouth.
“What’s the problem, Ashley?” An exasperated voice shouts. Harry steps back slightly when the owner of the voice appears. He’s nowhere near as big as uncle Vernon, but he’s definitely a lot bigger than Harry’s scrawny build, and he could definitely deliver a few punches Harry’s way with relative ease.
Ashley stands up, pointing accusingly at Harry over the desk. “This young man is demanding to see Mr Stark and he won’t take no for an answer.”
The man looks at him then, his face paling as he blinks a few times, like he’s looking at a ghost. Harry stands up straighter and the man clears his throat. “What do you need to see Mr Stark for, kid? Where are your parents?”
“My parents are the reason I need to see Mr Stark seeing as he is one of them.” Harry snarls, pushing down the fear that creeps up his back. This man can’t hurt him, not in front of all these people.
Harry should probably be concerned that the announcement that Tony Stark is his father seems to have had no effect on the workers around them. How many kids turn up here saying the same thing? He knows that the man has money, he’d read it on the parchment at Gringotts, but surely people aren’t stupid enough to claim their child is Tony Stark’s without proof.
Harry has proof at least, albeit it’s scribbled down on a bit of parchment, and really it’s not proof at all, just some words that James Potter had written whilst fearing for his life.
Shit. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He knew the chance of him having a parent alive was too good to be true.
Just as he’s about to run out of the building and catch the next flight back to Surrey, because even the Dursleys is better than the embarrassment of falsely claiming a billionaire is his father, the man in front of him pales further, nodding. “I was worried you were about to say that.” He clears his throat again, “You should probably come with me, kid.” He gestures for Harry to follow and Harry does, smirking at the woman behind the desk.
“Mr Hogan!” She screeches.
“I’ll handle it, Ashley.” Mr Hogan, apparently, snaps back at her, pushing Harry in front of him as they step into an elevator.
Harry steps into the corner of the elevator furthest away from the man who is watching him curiously. Neither of them say anything until the doors open and the man ushers Harry into a vacant room containing a few chairs and some desks. “Stay here. Do not wander off, kid. I mean it.” Mr Hogan warns, shooting him one last look before hurrying out and shutting the door.
Harry sighs, pulling one of the chairs out from under a desk and sitting on it, then getting up and standing against the wall instead because he shouldn’t be letting his guard down, no matter how tired he is.
It’s been approximately 36 hours since Harry had last slept now. He hadn’t managed to sleep at all on the flight out of fear of the plane crashing whilst he was unconscious. Hopefully when he flies home tomorrow, his second time on an airplane ever, he’ll actually be able to get some sleep.
The only positive of not sleeping is that he hasn’t had any nightmares. They’ve been getting worse recently which should be a concern but everything is already so shit in Harry’s life that nightmares are the least of his concern.
Harry straightens when there’s muffled shouts from outside the room.
“This better be important, Hap. I was in a meeting which will only take longer thanks to this interruption and I’d much rather it be over as quickly as possible. Fury is droning on again.”
“Boss, it’s very important.” Harry recognises the voice as Mr Hogan’s, but then his tone dips lower and Harry can’t hear a word of what’s being said anymore.
When the door opens Mr Hogan walks back in and Harry’s hands ball into fists as he glares, ready to fight if he has to. At least he has his wand. The ministry will surely understand he had no choice but to use magic underage if his life was in danger.
Behind Mr Hogan another man steps in and Harry wouldn’t need anyone to tell him that it’s Mr Stark, because the man looks so much like Harry that it’s paralysing.
For the past three years everyone has told him how much he looks like James Potter, but they’d only have to look at Tony Stark to know that’s not true.
James Potter had glasses, Harry doesn’t. He’d always assumed he’d inherited his mother’s eyesight seeing as he has green eyes, but now looking at Tony Stark it seems he may have inherited his eyesight too; the man is wearing orange sunglasses but they’re obviously not prescription ones, more like an awful fashion statement.
They have the same jaw line, the same mouth. His hair is a lighter shade than Harry’s and more styled, but still sticks up in the same way Harry’s does.
“Shit.” He says, gaping.
Tony Stark has often thought about what he must’ve looked like to the other students at MIT when he started there at fourteen. He knows he was scrawny, messy-haired, with a whole fuck-the-world attitude.
And the kid standing in front of him is like looking at himself back then.
He’s small and thin with clothes that seem to drown him, that could just be what kids find cool these days, oversized has always been a thing, but these clothes don’t seem to be styled. They’re hanging off his lithe frame like they aren’t even his clothes. His hair is messy like the kid hasn’t ran a comb through it in weeks, or ever. The kid is scowling at him like Tony has stolen his puppy or something as equally awful.
It’s the green of his eyes that really catch Tony’s attention, though. They’re paralysing. Tony has only ever seen that eye colour on one other person in his entire life and it was over a decade ago.
“Shit.” The kid says, flinching slightly like he’s surprised he’s even said anything at all, but then he’s back to scowling again.
“Shit,” Tony agrees, smirking. “You do look like me.” He narrows his eyes on the boy’s face. There’s bruises on his pale skin. “A bit more bruised, though. What happened to your face?”
“I fell over.” The kid snaps, arms folding across his chest. It’s only then the accent clicks in his brain.
“You’re british.”
The kid actually rolls his eyes, like Tony is the one that has shown up at his place of work demanding to see him. “Thanks. I hadn’t realised that.”
Tony holds back a laugh. Happy might’ve been right. There’s been at least forty kids that have turned up at the Tower claiming to be his illegitimate child, normally forced into it by their parents, but this kid, shit this kid might actually be his. “Yeah, alright, smartass. What I mean by that is that I haven’t had any kind of fun that would end in me conceiving a baby in the UK in…”
“Fourteen years?” The kid drawls, smirking at him. “Hi, I’m the result of that fun you had with my parents fourteen years ago. Congratulations, it’s a boy.”
Tony stares at the kid. The eyes. The sarcasm. The whit. Fourteen years ago. England.
“You’re Lily’s son.” He says, a hand running through his hair as he desperately tries to think of her surname. The kid flinches and Tony knows he’s right.
That night had been a blur. He’d met Lily and her husband at a bar. They’d been so young and Tony can remember being in disbelief that two twenty-year-olds were married, but then they all got talking and the husband had invited him back to their house.
James. The husband was James. They’d been there with three friends but for the life of him Tony can’t remember their names, only that two of them had barely moved an inch from each other the whole night and the other had hung about awkwardly.
Tony had slept with Lily, he knows that. He’d slept with James too if he remembers correctly but he’d been so off his face on cocaine that he might be wrong.
Where are James and Lily? Do they know the kid is here? Are they the ones that told him?
Happy clears his throat and Tony looks at him having forgotten the man was there, too busy staring at the kid and reliving one of the wildest nights of his twenties.
“Call Cho. We’re going to need a paternity test.” Tony orders distractedly. Happy nods, rushing out of the room.
They don’t need a paternity test. It will only prove what Tony already knows; this kid is his kid. His son.
But, Tony will need proof if he’s to gain shared custody of the kid with James and Lily. They must have told the kid, there’s no way the kid would know about Tony without hearing it from them. Fuck, even Tony didn’t know the kid existed for almost fourteen years.
Fourteen years. He’s missed out on fourteen years of his kid’s life. His kid. He doesn’t even know his name.
“What’s your name?”
The kid’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Harry.”
Harry. It’s a nice name. It suits him. “Okay, Harry. Am I going to get a last name?”
“Just Harry.”
“Okay, just Harry,” Tony drawls, smirking. “I’ll let that slide for now but I will need a bit more from you soon.” He eyes the boy again, the bruises, the baggy clothes. Lily would have been young when Harry was born but she didn’t seem like the kind of person to neglect her own kid. “Where are your parents?”
“I’m looking at one of them.”
Touché. “Fine. Where’s your mom? Lily, right? Does she know you’re here?”
“She’s dead so probably not.” Harry hisses. Tony winces. That he was not expecting.
“I’m sorry,” He says, because he’s not sure what else he can say. “That must be tough.”
Harry rolls his eyes again and Tony is quickly reconsidering making that call to his lawyers because does he really want to put up with this snarky teenager. Peter’s lame jokes are bad enough but at least he doesn’t have an attitude. Does Tony really want this kid for half of the year? All the time? If Lily is dead then who has raised his son?
“Lily was married when I met her and we…made you. James? Do you see him?”
“Also dead.”
Right. Well, that helps with the custody issue at least. “Who do you live with then? Are you in foster care?” Fuck, he hopes not. The guilt on missing out on almost fourteen years of the kid’s life will only be made worse if it turns out the kid has been shipped around the system getting beaten for years.
“I wish.” Harry snorts, levelling him with a dark look. “I live with my aunt, uncle, and cousin. My mom’s sister. That’s why I need your help.”
Help. His kid has turned up on his doorstep because he needs help. Tony hates himself just a bit more than normal at the admission.
“What kind of help? Money?” He asks. The kid must know he’s not short of it. Hell, he’ll hand over everything in his bank account right now.
“I don’t need your money.” Harry grates. “All I need is for you to write a letter to my headmaster giving me permission to spend the summer at the L—a hotel in London until I go back to Hog—my boarding school.”
Tony is really lost now, because why would Harry be staying at a hotel when he has a family he lives with? More importantly why would Harry think that Tony will just let him leave and spend the summer in a hotel alone?
Happy appears at the doorway and they engage in the same silent communication they have been for years. He nods, turning back to Harry. “We can talk about whatever it is you need later. First, we need a DNA test. How are you with needles?”
“Love them.” Harry deadpans. Tony sighs, is this going to his life now? Dealing with a bratty teenager? He casts another glance at Harry and smiles slightly. His bratty teenager.
The car ride to the Avengers Compound is done in silence. Happy drives them with the privacy screen up and Tony sits with Harry in the back.
The kid’s head is leant against the window and it’s only now Tony notices how tired he looks. There’s dark circles under the boy’s bright eyes. “You can sleep once we’ve done the blood test, it won’t take long. There’s plenty of spare rooms you can use back at the tower.”
Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment and Tony thinks he might have already fallen asleep until there’s a muttered, “I’m not staying with you. I’m going back to London once you’ve written a letter to my headmaster.”
“Does he not have email? Writing letters is a bit archaic.” Tony says, hoping to at least get a smile out of the boy.
Harry turns to look at him. “No. We don’t have email at Hog—my boarding school.”
“Your school is in Scotland?” He asks, receiving a nod in response. “What’s the name of it? I should be able to find a way of getting in touch with your headmaster.”
“You won’t be able to find anything about it. It’s invite only. Just write a letter and I can give it to him.” Harry grumbles, fully turning away from Tony and effectively putting an end to their conversation.
That doesn’t stop Tony from pulling out his phone and researching boarding schools in Scotland. Scotland isn’t that big a country. There can’t be that many.
It’s irrelevant anyway. Tony knows that if this paternity test proves what he already thinks to be true then he’s going to need to have a serious discussion with Harry. One where he informs the boy he will be moving to New York and will have to switch schools.
That conversation can wait until the kid has had some sleep. At least then maybe Harry will be a bit more appeasing.
Tony has to shake the boy awake when they pull up at the compound and Harry flinches, jumping away from Tony like he’s been burned.
Tony holds up his hands in mock surrender, eyebrows raised. “Hey, it’s just me. We’re at the compound.”
Harry huffs, getting out of the car without casting him another glance. Tony follows, making a mental note to look into Harry’s aunt and uncle because no kid should be flinching like that, especially not his kid.
Tony watches Harry storm ahead, not bothering to shout that he won’t have access yet, he’ll figure it out when he can’t get in.
“What do you think?” Happy asks uneasily, stepping out of the car and up next to Tony.
“He’s my kid.” Tony says, eyes never leaving Harry. His lips twitch when the kid kicks at the door and scowls over at him.
Happy snorts, following Tony’s eyes as they both watch the kid sulking. “Yeah, that we definitely don’t need a test for. What are you going to do?”
Tony glances at him. “Be his dad.” He says, strolling after his son.
“What did my door to you, huh?” He asks, smirking, as the doors open for him and Harry and Happy follow him in.
“They wouldn’t open for me.” Harry mutters like that’s a good reason for trying to kick through the compound door. Maybe Tony should look into anger management for the kid.
“That’s FRIDAY. I’ll have her add you to the system and you’ll get access.” He tells the boy who couldn’t look any less interested in what he’s saying.
“We’re just going down to the med-bay.” Tony says, a hand on Harry’s shoulder, as he leads him to the elevator. He can’t keep the small smile off his face as the kid looks around the compound in awe.
When the doors open on the med-bay floor Tony ushers Harry to the room where Dr Cho is waiting.
“Harry, this is Dr Cho. Dr Cho, this is Harry.” He says, eyeing the doctor. She knows why they’re here.
She looks between the two of them, smirking slightly, and Tony already knows she thinks this paternity test will be a waste of their time.
“Hi, Harry. It’s nice to meet you. I just need to take some of your blood. How are you with needles?”
“Not great.” Harry admits quietly and Tony raises his eyebrows. Apparently Dr Cho won’t be met with the snarky attitude he got.
“That’s alright, I’ll make it quick and you don’t have to look. Take a seat on the bed there.” Harry hops up on the bed, looking between Tony and Happy with pursed lips.
“I’ll wait outside.” Happy mutters, quickly escaping out of the door.
“You’re staying?” Harry snaps at him, but Tony can’t miss the vulnerability in his eyes. The attitude is a defence. Tony knows all about that. This really is his kid.
“If you don’t mind.” He says, not surprised when Harry gives him a sharp nod in return.
It only takes a minute for Dr Cho to take Harry’s blood.
“FRI, run it against mine.” Tony commands, grinning when Harry looks at him like he’s insane.
“Who the fuck are you talking to?”
“My AI. FRIDAY. She runs the compound.” He says, narrowing his eyes, “Should kids your age be swearing?”
“What’s an AI?” Harry asks, brows furrowed. It’s the most interested he’s looked in anything Tony’s had to say since he met him.
“Artificial Intelligence. You’ve never read about it?”
“No.” Harry shrugs, “My school doesn’t teach us that kind of stuff.”
Tony nods. It makes sense. AI is fairly new technology and probably a bit above the average high schooler, Tony and Peter excluded, and the last thing Tony wants to do is make his own kid feel dumb.
“You’ll be able to find out about it on the internet or I can take you down to my lab and show you some stuff. We’ll set up your phone with FRIDAY too.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
It’s Tony’s turn to furrow his brows now because what kind of teenager doesn’t own a phone? Admittedly the only teenager Tony has any experience with is Peter but that kid is always on his.
“The test is completed, Boss ,” FRIDAY announces, effectively cutting off any further questioning.
Blood rushes in Tony’s ears. He already knows what the test will say. Harry is his son. He knows it. From the moment he laid eyes on him there was some kind of pull between them. He can feel Harry’s gaze on him and he smiles reassuringly, moving over to the screen.
It’s a match.
“Congratulations to me, it’s a boy.” He mimics, grinning at Harry, who watches him with the same impassive expression.
Harry isn’t all that surprised that Tony’s big computer confirmed the man is his dad. He knew the man was his father as soon as he’d looked at him.
He is however both surprised and very annoyed when Tony has Mr Hogan drive them back to the tower they’d just come from and Tony takes him up to the top floor into what he tells Harry is his personal living space.
“You can have that room.” Tony tells him, pointing at a door in the hallway opposite the kitchen, “That’s my room.” He adds, pointing at the door next to it, glancing at the single, small backpack on Harry’s back.
“You haven’t brought much with you but that’s fine, we can get you whatever you need. You can re-decorate the room however you like. I’m not sure what food you like but you can just tell FRIDAY and she’ll order it. You should probably go to sleep for a bit because you look knackered, kid, or I can show you around first? Whatever you want to do. This is your home—“
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Harry snaps, interrupting the man’s rambling. Tony stops, eyeing him apprehensively.
“Kid, watch your language, okay? You can swear all you want when you’re eighteen, in fact I’ll encourage it, but less of the curses whilst you’re still a little squirt.” Tony is smiling at him now, like they’re sharing some kind of inside joke.
Harry ignores the rebuke. He doesn’t need some random man telling him he can’t swear and he definitely doesn’t need that man offering him somewhere to live in an entirely different country to his own. “Mate, seriously. What the fuck are you on about? I’m not staying here. All I need is for you to write a letter to my headmaster confirming you’re my legal guardian and that I can stay in the hotel in Scotland. Can you do it now so I can go home?”
Tony sighs, looking uncharacteristically awkward as he rags a hand through his hair. Harry barely knows the man but he can tell he’s not the kind of person that often feels awkward. He oozes charisma and confidence. He’s everything Harry isn’t but pretends to be.
“Look, Harry, you’re my son,” Tony says, eyes almost pleading, “And I’m really sorry that I missed so much of your life but if I’d have known about you then I would have had you with me from the start. I can’t change the past but I can help your future. I’m going to get all the papers sorted with my lawyers which won’t take long because you’re my kid, and then custody will be granted to me. You’re going to live with me now, okay? I’m not having my thirteen-year-old son living alone on the other side of the world.”
Harry gapes at him. The man can’t be serious. He doesn’t even know Harry and he’s already making decisions on his life because, what, they share the same DNA? This is all wrong. Harry reaches for his wand in his pocket, even though he knows he won’t use it.
It’s his wand that makes him spiral even more. Tony doesn’t know that he’s a wizard. Tony doesn’t know that there are dark wizards that want him dead. Tony doesn’t know about Hogwarts, about Hermione and Ron. What about Sirius? He doesn’t even know where Harry is.
“That’s not happening.” Harry says shortly, hand slipping off his wand as he folds his arms across his chest. This just needs to be a civilised conversation. Tony is obviously only doing this because he feels guilty and Harry can explain that he will be fine back in the UK with his friends.
Tony was obviously expecting him to start shouting and screaming because he blinks at the neutral tone of Harry’s voice and then shrugs his shoulders, like he’s amused. “Afraid it is, kid. Adult.” He points at himself, “Kid.” He points back at Harry. “I get to make the decisions and from the look of you there’s no-one caring for you back in England so you’ll stay here with me. We’ll find you a good school when you’re ready. It can be a boarding school if you want, I went to one of them too, hated it, but if it’s your thing then whatever—“
“Mr Stark,” Harry hisses, interrupting again. Why does the man talk so much?
“Tony,” The man corrects smiling, undeterred by the interruption. “I know it’s not what you wanted kid but trust me, it’s for the best. You go get some sleep, alright? I’ll wake you in a few hours for dinner and we can talk more, hopefully about how you really got those bruises. You’ll probably be jet lagged so we don’t want you sleeping for too long.”
Tony opens the door to Harry’s bedroom and Harry turns around, ignoring him, and stalking back the way they came. If the man won’t listen then Harry will just go. He’ll find another way of getting away from the Dursleys. Maybe Dumbledore will listen to him if Harry tells him everything; the cupboard, the starvation, the beatings.
“Kid, where are you going? You should get some sleep.” Tony calls after him, concern heavy in his voice.
“I’m going home!” Harry shouts, not bothering to turn around. “If you won’t help me then I’ll figure it out myself!”
“FRI. Lock the doors.”
Harry doesn’t make it to the door in time before the command and when he does the door won’t open. He tugs at it, cursing under his breath, until finally kicking at it. It doesn’t do a thing.
“You really must have something against my doors.” Tony’s voice comes from right behind him and Harry doesn’t need to turn to know he’s standing only a few inches away.
“Let me out.” He hisses, kicking at the door again.
“Harry, I can’t. You’re thirteen-years-old—“
“I’m fourteen in three weeks.” Harry snaps, finally turning around.
“Fourteen is not any better. You’re a kid, my kid, and I can’t have you in another country without anyone to look after you.”
“I have plenty of people to look after me!”
Tony arches an eyebrow at him. Harry hates him. “If that’s true then why did you come here to get my permission to stay in some random hotel for the summer? Kid, don’t lie to me. I know you don’t have anywhere to go. This is your home, okay? With me. You’re staying here, no arguments.”
Harry scowls up at the man. It was barely two days ago that Harry had ran off from the Dursleys and now he’s trapped in some massive building with weird muggle technology that would have Voldemort turning into dust.
This was not the plan.
“Please,” Harry says quieter. He smiles up at the man as innocently as he can muster which isn’t very innocent at all. “Can you just let me go back to London to sort my stuff out? I promise I’ll come back. I’ll give you my phone number and we can talk.” Tony’s face softens and Harry mentally claps himself on the back. The hat was right about him being a Slytherin.
Or not.
Tony chokes out a laugh, smothering his mouth with his hand and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but kid, seriously? Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m an actual genius and you’re fooling nobody. If I let you go back to London then I’ll never find you again because you haven’t given me your last name, nor where you actually live, and you’ve already told me you don’t have a phone.” He ruffles Harry’s hair like he thinks Harry’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. Harry bats him away with a scowl that would make Malfoy go running, but only leads to Tony smiling more. “Go get some sleep, Harry. We’ll talk more when you wake up.”
Harry really is exhausted and the mention of sleep only makes him yawn. He tries to hide it but Tony must notice because he slips an arm around Harry’s shoulders and guides him to the bedroom.
Harry has enough energy for one last argument as he pushes the man away. “You’re ruining my fucking life! I’m not staying here! I’m leaving tomorrow and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”
“Okay, kid. Get some sleep.” Tony repeats, opening the bedroom door and gently ushering Harry inside.
“I hate you!” Harry roars, slamming the door shut on Tony Stark’s stunned face.
This cannot be happening. He’s faced the Dursleys, dementors, a troll, fucking Voldemort. He’s the God damn boy-who-lived.
And now he’s stuck in New York with a man that has no idea who he is or what he’s capable of.